The Secret Life of Chakotay
by Drakkenfyre
Summary: His spirit guide is on strike, the woman he loves is sleeping with someone else, and to top it all off, he hasn't slept in days. It seems hopeless, until Chakotay meets a mysterious crewman with all the answers. A Voy/Fight Club spoof.
1. Default Chapter

The Secret Life of Chakotay  
  
   
  
Rated R for (including, but not limited to) language, explicit descriptions of nudity, extreme violence, a character's sexual fantasies. All tongue-in- cheek, of course.  
  
Author's note: This story is a spoof of Star Trek: Voyager, owned by Paramount, and the book Fight Club by Chuck Palahniuk.  
  
  
  
1 Part 1 of 3  
  
        Chakotay couldn't sleep. Again. He rolled onto his left side and stared at this medicine bundle on the shelf. It brought him no solace. He rolled onto his right side and tried shutting his dry and scratchy eyes. To no avail. He lay on his back again and meditated on the blankness of the ceiling. He heard a rustling sound coming from next door and knew Kathryn was finally done reading reports and had decided to give her body the rest it so badly needed. He knew she must be removing her uniform in preparation for her shower. First the jacket. Then the pants and the turtleneck. Her creamy skin would appear almost luminescent in the subdued light of her cabin. What would she be wearing underneath? Satin? No, lace. Black? Probably not; more likely peach—above and below. She'd reach behind her back and release the clasp of her bra and her breasts would spring free. Suddenly chilled, her nipples would harden to tight little nubs. He could almost see her lightly running her palms over her breasts and surrounding her newly-found nakedness before reaching a finger down to slip off her tiny panties. Chakotay reached his hand down, inside his boxer shorts to caress his own… nothing. He was limp. More than limp. Lifeless. Usually when he thought of Kathryn like this, he instantly grew hard. Now, even when he fondled it, his penis refused to cooperate.  
  
Abruptly he stood, stomped over to the corner of his room, and threw on the loose cotton pants he tossed there earlier. He knew he wouldn't have to worry about wearing these flimsy pants tonight. After yanking the drawstring and kicking on his sandals, he grabbed his medicine bundle and left.  
  
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Hours later, he was still searching, trying to find a place where he could meditate and successfully enter a vision quest. Cargo bay 1, the Jeffries tubes, engineering, sickbay, the conference room, the brig, even the airponics bay. They were all the same ghostly shells of the places he knew.  
  
No matter where he went, his spirit guide was unreachable. And he was so troubled as of late. He wondered if the spirits were so cold-hearted they could forsake him in a time of such great need. At least he'd have the chance to get away tomorrow.  
  
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"I don't know about you, Ensign, but I'll be happy to be eating something other than leeola root stew for a change," Chakotay said, as he keyed a course correction into the shuttle's helm. He was still fatigued, but in better spirits.  
  
"Leeola root has a variety uses outside of being a nutritionally complete foodstuff. The outermost fibrous covering contains a variety of lipids and weak acids that can be made into an excellent soap," the ensign said.  
  
Chakotay looked at the officer sitting beside him in the shuttlecraft. When he saw the duty roster this morning, he did not recognize the name of the man assigned to the away mission. When he got to the shuttlecraft, Ensign Straker was already sitting in the co-pilot's seat running through the pre-flight check. After talking with him, Chakotay discovered Straker was self-assured to the point of cockiness, but he had a strange sort of charm that Chakotay was drawn to.  
  
"Since they're indigestible," Straker continued, "we just throw the husk away, but they are one of the most useful parts of the plant."  
  
"So, you actually make this Leola root soap on the ship?"  
  
He nodded.  
  
Chakotay added, "So, what exactly do you do on the ship?"  
  
"I do the ship's recycling."  
  
Chakotay smiles, "How fitting. What would I do it if I wanted some of this soap?"  
  
Tarran reached into his travel satchel and produced a small paper card. "All you have to do is get in touch."  
  
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The mission had gone well, the Captain was pleased, and he was getting some well-deserved rest. Maybe not rest. His insomnia had stolen him from the real world and now he could only view it from a distance. The image was distorted, like through a peephole. Instead of fidgeting all night, he decided to meditate right away. He grabbed his medicine bundle and left.  
  
After yet another unproductive meditation session, he decided to return to his quarters. Meandering down the corridor to his cabin, he was suddenly thrown off his feet by a violent explosion. Landing solely upon his posterior, he was stunned by the shock that traveled through his spine to rattle his brain. Lying in that undignified position, the crew began milling about. Some ran towards the sound of the explosion, some away. The sound of the red alert klaxon spurred him into action and he shakily stood and began hobbling towards the blast. As he neared the source of the detonation, a sudden dread spurred him on, in spite of his painfully abused buttocks.  
  
And then there it was, now visible through the parting dust cloud. His quarters appeared to have exploded and as he passed through the door, he could see a gaping hole with space beyond.  
  
"Sir," an Ensign from Security said, "the force fields are unstable. You should evacuate the deck."  
  
Numbly, he nodded and left.  
  
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"Are you sure you wouldn't like some sautéed leeola root?" Neelix asked. Chakotay didn't move at all in his mess hall chair except to shake his head.  
  
"Okay then. But if you need anything—I mean anything—don't hesitate to ask." He pattered away to torture more crewmembers with his "culinary delights".  
  
Various people stopped by to express their condolences, but he barely heard them. Then one thing tore him from his reverie. Her voice.  
  
"Commander Chakotay, please report to my quarters."  
  
His heart lifting slightly, he stood and left the mess hall.  
  
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It was a surreal tableau that he could not tear his eyes from. As he sat on the couch, Janeway's window framed the absurd spectacle outside the ship, in the cold vacuum of space. Suspended in the void were the contents of his quarters—every dresser drawer, every bar of soap, every article of clothing. Tuvok had immediately utilized a short burst of the tractor beam to stop the outward progress of the debris, but any other motion they possessed, they retained. Directly outside Janeway's window, spinning in place, was Chakotay's favorite pair of Starfleet insignia boxer shorts, stretched out fully by centrifugal force. He sighed. The little Starfleet insignias danced a dizzying pattern that seemed to mock him in their freedom. Further back hung his woven tapestries, his motif chairs, his ...  
  
Kathryn was trying to suppress a giggle as she, too, stared out the window.  
  
In anger, he turned to face her and said, "You think this is funny? Laughing at my misfortune? I thought you'd have a little more compassion than that."  
  
Still smiling, she returned, "I'm not laughing at you, I'm laughing at that." She pointed out the window. "Does that even fit you?"  
  
His nostrils flared.  
  
"Of course it fits; the replicator spit it out."  
  
"Not your boxers," she pointed off to the side, "that."  
  
He turned and deep shade of red and stood to leave.  
  
She continued, "What is it, Betazoid? I heard they were liberated, but…"  
  
"Could we drop it?"  
  
His embarrassment only encouraged her mirthful prodding. "Well, as your commanding officer, I feel I have to remind you that is an extremely non- regulation piece of clothing."  
  
"How could it possibly be taking so long to beam it all back in?"  
  
"A transport might disrupt the already-fragile force fields holding the rest of your room in. Besides," she added, "I think some of those items are too small to be transported."  
  
He had reached the end of his patience. "Excuse me Captain, but I have to find someone who will let me stay in their quarters tonight." He paused in front of her door.  
  
"Well then, good night," Kathryn said.  
  
He furiously stormed from her room.  
  
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Chakotay wasn't even looking up when he walked into a solid object. For the second time that day, he ended up sprawled unceremoniously on his ass. Looking up, he saw Ensign Straker, hand outstretched to help him up. He accepted and was pulled back to vertical.  
  
"Sorry about that," Chakotay mumbled.  
  
"The Commander apologizing to the Ensign. Isn't that one of the signs of the Apocalypse? What's up?"  
  
Though Straker seemed too friendly given their lack of familiarity, Chakotay replied, "Lots. I'm just trying to find someone to put me up for the night."  
  
Tarran raised his eyebrows and said, "I'm on gamma shift, so I'm just starting. Take my quarters."  
  
Chakotay blinked, "You're not serious."  
  
"All you need to do is ask. I have a place; you need a place."  
  
"I couldn't…"  
  
"Why not? Have fun; feel free to borrow a fresh shirt."  
  
"Your not trying to curry favour, are you?"  
  
"What could you do? I'm already Chief Recycler. Not much improvement to be had. So you have a good sleep," Straker said as he walked away.  
  
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The room almost reeked of testosterone. If the room could speak, it would say, "I am man." It was decorated with tapestries of primal reds and browns that, if you crossed your eyes and squinted, could have depicted battles. The room was spare and organized, like how one would imagine a Spartan's. After of brief overview, Chakotay lay on the bed and promptly fell asleep.  
  
   
  
   
  
"Slide," it whispered in his ear.  
  
He immediately sat upright. Looking around the unfamiliar surroundings, he realized it had been a dream.  
  
He struggled to recall the dream. Ice. Caves of ice. Then who was speaking? The penguin. A penguin? He was angry that a dream about a penguin disturbed his sleep. Once again, ear touched pillow...  
  
"Slide," it demanded. "Ya big oaf. Whadda you looking at?"  
  
Chakotay looked up. He was standing in the ice caves. The air in his nostrils was refreshingly cool and he drank it in.  
  
Turning his attention downward, he asked the penguin, "Who are you?"  
  
"Your new spirit guide."  
  
Chakotay's blood ran cold. The thought of losing his spirit guide was unbearable. Anger filled him.  
  
"What have you done with her?" Chakotay demanded.  
  
"Relax," the penguin said, "she's just on a little vacation. She needs it after being your spirit guide."  
  
"What do you mean?"  
  
"She's tired of hearing yet another love-sick fool natter on about how wonderful some chick is, without doing anything about it. I say, if you want her, you gotta take her, before someone else does."  
  
Chakotay hung his head. "It's not that simple."  
  
"Of course it is. When was the last time you showed her how you felt? Gave her flowers? Made her dinner? Got her something nice to wear? Told her how bad you wanted to leave her uniform on your bedroom floor?"  
  
            Shooting the penguin a fiery look tinged with embarrassment, Chakotay said, "So, who are you to tell me what to do?"  
  
"I'm Larry, Ice God of Unrequited Love; what's it to you?"  
  
"You're not a part of my religion."  
  
"So what? Stop looking at gift horse in the mouth. Right now you're in trouble and I'm all you've got."  
  
Chakotay could hear music permeating from beyond the ice walls. Larry said, "That's my cue to book out of here. Remember what I said; you better get her before she's gotten."  
  
Chakotay awoke to the blasting bars of a particularly strident piece of music. Reflexively, he brought the pillow to cover his head. Realizing the futility of trying to block such a loud piece of music, he shouted, "Computer, shut that off!" It stopped. "What was that?" He demanded.  
  
"Ballad of the Battle of Kregthor," it replied in its usual monotone.  
  
Waking up to Klingon opera was not Chakotay's idea of fun. Growling as he rolled of bed, he lifted a heavy arm to tap his combadge.  
  
"Chakotay to engineering, how's the salvage operation going?"  
  
"Torres here. Sorry, Chakotay, still can't get your stuff back. Soon, though. We'll patch up that hole in the wall, then we'll be beam everything back inside. Don't worry, if it wasn't immediately destroyed, it's perfectly preserved out there."  
  
That was what worried him.  
  
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"Come in," Captain Janeway said.  
  
Dressed in his nightclothes, Chakotay plodded into her quarters, only to be greeted by the montage outside mocking him as before.  
  
"I just came to ask you, since I don't have a uniform yet, could I give Harry Kim command of this shift, while I go to do some paperwork in my office?"  
  
"Of course. Take some time for yourself today, too."  
  
Chakotay moved to leave, then heard a whispered, "Slide, you dufus."  
  
Turning to Kathryn, he adds, "Are you free for din—ah, lunch tomorrow?"  
  
Not even noticing his verbal stumble, she replied, "That would be lovely."  
  
Steps lightened in elation, he left.  
  
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"So, I hear your belongings have been transported in and your quarters will be safe again tomorrow," Kathryn said that before lifting another forkful of lettuce to her mouth.  
  
Watching the sensual display of Kathryn's lips closing over the fork, Chakotay only replied, "Uh-huh."  
  
Frowning, she said, "You don't sound too impressed."  
  
His reverie broken by the downturn of her lips, he said, "It's just that I still need a place to sleep tonight. "  
  
"That shouldn't be a problem for you," she said.  
  
He could not tell if that was supposed to be an insult.  
  
Bluntly, he stated, "I think you should let me stay here tonight."  
  
She looked away and said, "I already have plans."  
  
Not quite understanding the reason, he said, "But we're on the same shift right now. You won't be staying up that late. All I'm asking for is your couch."  
  
Her cheeks reddened and she said, "I really am that busy."  
  
The realization of what she meant hit him in the gut.  
  
"I'll…" He stood. "I guess I should be going. Bye." He nearly ran out of the room.  
  
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Studying the subtle pattern of the materials that make up the mess hall table had taken on the new significance for Chakotay. If his eyes remained fixed on the table, he did not have to face anyone.  
  
"Commander Chakotay, what a pleasant surprise," Neelix exclaimed, jubilantly.  
  
"I'd rather be alone."  
  
"Oh no!" Neelix said as his smile turned downwards. "What's the matter?"  
  
"I'd rather not say."  
  
"But you'd feel so much better if you talked about it."  
  
"Please, just go."  
  
"Okay Commander, but if you want to talk about it later, you know where to find me."  
  
Chakotay slumped even further into his chair.  
  
"Don't you just hate it when they want to talk?"  
  
Looking up, Straker's face greeted him. He continued, "Let's get out here."  
  
They left and found the turbolift. Tarran led Chakotay through the mazes of corridors on the lower decks, until they reached a door labeled "Recycling". Inside the door was a jumble of pipes, tubes, barrels, and controller consoles.  
  
"You were wondering about the joys of leola root," Tarran said. He dug in a box of spare parts and pulled out two cups, which he brought to a secluded area around the corner. Liquid was poured twice, then Tarran returned and handed Chakotay a cup.  
  
Chakotay smelled his portion of the liquid and nearly collapsed. "What is this stuff, plasma conduit cleaner?"  
  
"It's not that bad. It's actually quite smooth, if you'll give it a try."  
  
"I hate to tell you this, Straker, but I don't really drink. Especially not lower-decks moonshine, no offence."  
  
Concerned, Tarran asked, "Why not?"  
  
"Well, my people don't believe in the use…"  
  
"Why don't you drink?"  
  
After a pause, he answered, "I don't know."  
  
"Then how about a toast. To not drinking. And to not talking."  
  
             "Here, here," Chakotay said.  
  
On to part 2 (  
  
  


	2. Part 2

The Secret Life of Chakotay  
  
Part 2  
  
   
  
His eyes would not open. It's not that he was too tired to wake; he was awake, but his eyelids were stuck together.  
  
"Commander Chakotay, can you hear me," the voice repeated.  
  
Chakotay, still blind, fumbled for his combadge. "Uh," was all his parched throat could manage.  
  
"It's me, B'Elanna. You can return to your quarters."  
  
"Uh-huh."  
  
"Okay Sunshine, Torres out."  
  
His fingers picked at his crusted-over eyelids, until rays of light shone through, like daggers. Suddenly, a need a shot through him, a need to like no other. He needed to use his own bathroom. And about a gallon of cold drinking water would be nice, too.  
  
Staggering to his feet, he checked to see that he still had all his clothes. Satisfied modesty would be retained, he stumbled out of the room.  
  
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Left leg. Right leg. Left leg. Right leg. Left leg. Open the door. Right leg. Carrying the rest of the body, the legs marched through the door of Chakotay's cabin. Left leg. Right leg. Step through debris. Step out of pant leg. Left leg. Right leg.  
  
Chakotay walked through his cabin, throwing of his clothes before reaching the bathroom. Taking himself in hand, he released the contents of his bladder, the sound drowning out any minute fragments of conscious thought. In fatigue, he leaned his head against the wall.  
  
Thump thump.  
  
Jerking his head upright, he wondered what the sounds were. He shrugged and shook himself off before starting the shower.  
  
Thump thump.  
  
The water cascaded down, washing away the grime of the last two days. He was infinitely grateful that he had saved up so many water rations.  
  
Thump thump.  
  
He wondered what that banging sound could be. It seemed to be coming from Kathryn's quarters, but it was too late—or too early—for her to be awake.  
  
Thump thump thump thump thump.  
  
This sounds continued until it had drilled itself through the fatigue- entrusted layers of his mind to the active core of reason.  
  
Thump thump.  
  
Suddenly it occurred to him what that sound really was.  
  
Thump.  
  
It was a sound he had never, not in over six years, heard coming from her room.  
  
Thump.  
  
It was the sound of her headboard banging into the wall.  
  
Thump.  
  
His heart sank, bringing his body to sit on the floor of his shower, utterly dejected.  
  
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"Are you feeling all right, Chakotay?" Kathryn asked warmly as they sat on the bridge.  
  
He thought that she seemed a little too friendly for someone who knew exactly what she had done to him last night. He grumbled, "I'm just not feeling well today."  
  
She whispered, "A little hung-over?"  
  
How did she know? Was it that obvious?  
  
"A little. Okay, a lot."  
  
She patted his hand. He nearly recoiled, but instead forced a smile. It was at that point he knew his shift was never going to end.  
  
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"I can't believe I let you talk me into this," Chakotay whispered harshly.  
  
They were crowded behind the counters in Neelix's kitchen. The mess hall was dark and quiet, for now. Tarran was fiddling with the latches as Chakotay kept watch, unable to believe he was here, helping this man. It started when, at the end of his shift, he had gone to the recycling room, but paused just in front of the door.  
  
"We're closed," came a voice from somewhere inside the room.  
  
"It's me," Chakotay shouted.  
  
"Oh, then come on in. I was just going to grab some dinner; want to come?" Tarran asked.  
  
"Sure."  
  
They left and sauntered down the hall, speaking little. In the mess hall, they ate silently while enduring the leola root soufflé. Only when they left did either talk.  
  
Tarran said, "I hope you're not still sulking about that explosion.  Take it as a freeing experience.  I mean, it was only stuff--and sometimes the stuff we own ends up owning us."  
  
While his first instinct was to throttle Tarran where he stood, Chakotay thought about his words for a minute.  It was only stuff.  He'd lost everything before and never missed a beat.  And it's not like he lost a friend, someone important, like Kathryn.  So he just shook his head.  
  
Then the ensign asked, "I could use your help with something, if you're not too busy. "  
  
His answer had been a simple yes. So he was now trying to be as silent as possible while peering over the countertop, terrified of being spotted by some crewmember.  
  
"Admit it, this is the most fun you've had in ages," Straker said. "This is the most delicate part. I have to disable the cupboard's alarm system, with out setting it off. Got it."  
  
He threw open the cupboard and began scooping the husks into the bags they brought.  
  
"You finish this, Chak, and I'll get the rest of the stuff."  
  
Suddenly, the doors swished open and two pairs of feet entered, albeit quietly. Chakotay shot Tarran a look of horror, but Tarran signaled for quiet. The footfalls stopped. Chakotay wondered how they were going to get out of the mess hall undetected, but his friend just motioned for them to stay put. After only a few moments, the two crewmembers started making noises. Giggling, smacking, and moaning noises. Chakotay could only shake his head.  
  
Crouched over, booty in hand, the two conspirators stealthily crept out of the mess hall. Not that they needed to use that much stealth. Chakotay thought they could have dropped a plasma grenade in there without the lovebirds noticing.  
  
Soon they were running down the corridors like errant schoolboys. Chakotay thought he might have even caught himself giggling. Reaching the recycling lab, they both broke out in belly laughs.  
  
"I think this calls for a celebratory drink," Tarran exclaimed.  
  
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Hours later, the duo staggered out of the lab.  
  
"Hey, Chak, you ever been in a fistfight? A real fistfight, where two men agree to fight about something, then pound the crap out of each other until one gives up." Tarran slurred.  
  
"Well, I box, but I've never really been in a fight. And there was that time with that Cardassian… but that doesn't really count."  
  
"Then I think you should hit me."  
  
Turning to him, Chakotay said, "No! Why?"  
  
"Well, I don't think a man is really a man 'till he's been in a knock-em- down, drag-em-out fistfight.."  
  
"Oh, come on Tarran, this is the twenty-fourth century. Aren't we beyond that sort of thing?"  
  
"Yeah, we moved past it in our minds, but not in our hearts. Does the thin veneer of civilization make us any happier?"  
  
"I don't know."  
  
"Then hit me."  
  
"No."  
  
"Pussy."  
  
"Don't even bother."  
  
"You've been the Captain's little helper for years, but she can't be bothered to help you out with your little problem. I say she should put out or get out."  
  
This infuriated Chakotay beyond all reason. With a scream, he leapt at the man and began pummeling him with his fists. In turn, Tarran kneed him in the gut and gave him a couple shots to his face. Just then, two crewmen came around the corner. Instead of trying to pull the two combatants apart, as Chakotay expected, the two men merely stood to watch the spectacle.  
  
Tarran rolled away and spat at them, "Aren't you going to join in?"  
  
The two men looked at each other, then jumped in.  
  
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It only grew from that point. Within a week, the word discreetly spread and one of the cargo bays was chosen as the meeting spot. Someone even managed to borrow—probably steal—a dermal regenerator from sickbay, much to the chagrin of the unsuspecting doctor.  
  
The rules were laid. Each week, once a week, they fight. During that time there was no rank, no uniform. They were shirtless, sweat-slicked, bloodied warriors. Challenges were made, scores were settled. Then the night was over, the wounds were healed, and the men returned to their normal lives.  
  
One of the first fights was between the reluctant Tom Paris and Neelix. Both stepped into the ring, seemingly on amiable terms. Chakotay could not hear their words from his position at the back of the crowd, but Tom shrugged and his opponent reflected the gesture. It appeared that they just did not want to fight.  
  
Beside him Straker stood, watching the same scene, and chanting. Chanting?  
  
"What are you doing?" Chakotay whispered.  
  
"Never underestimate the power of suggestion, my friend. Your mind is your greatest weapon," Straker said, before returning to his machinations.  
  
Chakotay struggled to understand what the man was whispering. It sounded like one syllable said over and over. As each syllable slithered between Tarran's teeth, both stared into the ring at the non-combatants. With no perceptible reason, Neelix, then Tom, turned and looked directly at Straker. Tom merely squinted and crooked his head, but Neelix widened his eyes in comprehension and fury.  
  
The word, the word could almost form itself in his mind.  
  
Tom didn't look back at Neelix in time to see the attack and, before he could prepare, he was tackled to the ground. The furious Talaxian bared his teeth before applying some sort of alien forward armlock on the supine Paris, facing him, but leaving an obvious opening.  
  
What was the word?  
  
Winded, Tom allowed Neelix to drag him to his feet, where the opening remained. Paris saw the way out and took it, slipping beneath his adversary's linked arms. But it was a setup and Neelix's knee was waiting to be unleashed on his lowered head. One of Tom's teeth flew to the corner of the cargo bay floor and blood bubbled down his chin and neck to smear across his chest. This only fueled his desire to fight.  
  
That word of arcane power.  
  
Tom rose to his full height. The Talaxian stood chest-to-chest with him and spouted off a string of what must have been potent insults, but Paris bore them all silently. When the shorter man had stopped, Paris brought his full height and strength into a descending hook, fist directly on target for Neelix's nose. With a cry, he fell.  
  
A word of strife that fell from the instigator's lips.  
  
Tom quickly fell upon him and the two became a mass of writhing hatred, striking and grunting their collected rage with bloody result. Soon exertion and injury both were sapped of energy by, but they would not stop.  
  
The word…  
  
Smeared in blood and still scrabbling at each other with dulled nails, the two men were pulled apart.  
  
Kes.  
  
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"Slide."  
  
Suddenly bolt upright, he wondered what woke him, until he heard the noise.  
  
Thump thump thump.  
  
Not again. As of yet, he had not determined the identity of his mortal enemy, but he vowed he would.  
  
Back on the bed, he pulled the covers up around his ears, but the sound would not be shut out.  
  
"Computer, play some music… something Klingon."  
  
It wasn't "The Ballad of the Battle of Whatever", but it helped block out the sound from her quarters. Chakotay sat on the floor and opened his medicine bundle, caressing each object and reflecting on its meaning to him.  
  
"A-coo…"  
  
"Gesuntheit."  
  
He was in the ice caves again. Larry, Ice God of Unrequited Love, stood before him.  
  
Opening his beak, Larry said, "So, Choco-latté, I see someone is doing the horizontal mambo with your Kat toy next door."  
  
"Don't remind me."  
  
"What are ya gonna do about it?"  
  
Chakotay shrugged. "What can I do; I don't even know who he is."  
  
Larry said, "I'll give you a hint. He's a lot closer than you think."  
  
"What?"  
  
But Larry was gone.  
  
 TTTTTTTTTTTTTTTTTTTTTTTT  
  
   
  
During the morning briefing, the Captain was unusually chipper. Apparently even the completed refit of the plasma exhaust manifolds warranted Kathryn's glowing praise. That meant she had an enjoyable night.  
  
"Commander."  
  
Kicked out of his daydream [th], he sputtered, "Sorry, what was that, Tuvok?"  
  
"I said there has been a rash of unauthorized entries into Cargo Bay 1[check]." Do you know anything about it?"  
  
"No," he lied, "but I'll look into it."  
  
"Of course."  
  
Tuvok didn't sound convinced.  
  
This made him both the hunter and the hunted, but, while they were closing in on him, he was no closer to unmasking his faceless enemy.  
  
"I think you should call him Digger. Digger O'Toole," the penguin said.  
  
Looking up, Chakotay saw the conference room was now empty. They must have finished the meeting and left. His only companion was Larry, who now occupied the Captain's usual seat.,  
  
"You don't get it," Larry said, while shaking his head in a very human gesture.  
  
"I get it, it just wasn't funny."  
  
"To you."  
  
"Yeah, so Digger's tool is boldly going where mine will never go. Let just poke fun at the big chief. Ha ha. So, what are you doing here? Come to give me another hint as to who this guy is?"  
  
"If I told you he has a recurring problem with a proto-yeast infection of the feet, would it help? It's extremely itchy."  
  
It was Chakotay's turn to shake his head. "Everyone on this forsaken tin can, bobbing in the sea of lost spirits, got that damned case of alien athlete's foot."  
  
"Not everyone. Not your little captain friend," the penguin teased. "It's like she floats above the deck, suspended by angels at each shoulder. Did you know she's already beaten that crass little number Seven of Nine at twelve games of Velocity this week? And, for some strange and unknown reason, she's started another watercolour of New Ear…"  
  
"Enough!" the Commander roared. "All you do is come here and torture me about the man who is using the woman I love in ways I could only—in ways I should be using her! All the while feeding me useless bits of information when you know exactly who he is! What kind of spirit guide are you?"  
  
"Fine then, big boy, go it alone. But ask yourself one question: how could I possibly now the face of your enemy?"  
  
"Who's Digger O'Toole?" another voice asked.  
  
Suddenly, Larry was gone and Tarran was asking him about something he said ages ago.  
  
"Have you been here the whole time?" Chakotay asked.  
  
"Well, I wasn't sure if you were communicating with the spirits, or talking to yourself like regular people do."  
  
"Just having a few issues with my spirit guide. What's up?"  
  
             "I hear you've been having some problems with Tuvok. I think I have a solution."  
  
   
  
  


	3. Part 3

The Secret Life of Chakotay  
  
Part 3  
  
   
  
The fights were furious and passionate that night, as the threat of capture made the group anxious. The last fight was between Harry Kim and Joe Carrey. Joe sauntered around the circle in an open stance of arrogant assuredness. Intimidation was one of his weapons and he obviously thought Harry would be no match. Bare-chested, the younger fighter seemed soft in comparison to his opponent's sinewy frame. But Harry had a discipline of stance that was not about show or posturing, only concentration on the matter at hand.  
  
"Come to wipe the smirk off my face, young Harry?" Joe asked, flashing his teeth.  
  
"I've come to win."  
  
"Then let's see what you've got."  
  
Carrey unleashed a gang of vicious punches, most of which Kim absorbed in the gut. Winded, he stumbled back and tried to catch his breath, but without straying from his fighters' pose.  
  
"So you can take a couple punches," Joe taunted. "Let's see what you do with a few more."  
  
Joe put his full weight behind his punch. Harry calmly sidestepped it to the outside, grabbed the outstretched arm, and threw Joe to the ground.  
  
A knee digging into his back, Joe spat out, "Don't get cocky, now. Just when you think you have the advantage…"  
  
Suddenly he unleashed a scissor kick that torqued his upper body around. Harry was thrown off him, landing on the ground and hitting his head. Immediately Carrey was on him, pinning him to the cold floor and raising a fist high in the air to deliver the finishing blow right to Harry's jaw.  
  
At that moment, the spectators froze in place, ending conversations and even cheers in mid-word. In the audience, Tarran leaned into Chakotay and said, "I think Harry's going to need more than a dermal regenerator."  
  
The moment of silence stretched until the rising fist finally began its descent. The taut and gleaming skin showed the elastic tendons of Carrey's arm tense and propel his rage forward. It plunged, straight as a spear, sure of its target.  
  
It was stopped short.  
  
At the last instant, the dazed Ensign shot his arm up to meet the falling fist. With precision, he grabbed it in his palm and held it fast. Carrey tried with the other fist, but Harry grabbed that one too. Seemingly at a stalemate, the two men tensed against each other for a moment, testing for a weaknesses. Without warning, Harry let his wrists drop, drawing his opponent in, before firing his hands up behind Joe's neck. With all his strength, he pulled Carrey's face down to meet the crown of his raised head.  
  
With a yell, Carrey clutched his blood-smeared face and rolled away. Harry stood, towering above his prone rival.  
  
"Get up," he ordered.  
  
Joe tried to find his footing, but his wobbling arms and clumsy feet refused to obey. Instead, when his hand slipped in the growing pool of blood, he slumped to the ground.  
  
The fight was over.  
  
 TTTTTTTTTTTTTTTTTTTTTTTT  
  
   
  
In the hall, Chakotay demanded, "Why did you drag me out here?"  
  
Tarran said, "We have to deal with the Tuvok situation."  
  
"What do you propose?"  
  
"That we take care of our problem."  
  
Chakotay was annoyed by the roundabout tack Straker was taking, so he demanded, "Just tell me what you're planning. We used to be partners in this whole thing, you know."  
  
"What?" Tarran asked, innocently.  
  
"I know about your midnight exercises with the men. If I didn't know any better, I'd think you were planning a mutiny."  
  
Tarran appeared wounded by this comment. He defended by saying, "If you only knew. I am just as loyal to the Captain as you are, maybe more. And you don't even know what's really going on, right under your nose."  
  
"I agree! I don't know what's going on. So tell me, what is the plan? How will we deal with Tuvok?"  
  
"We have to get rid of that pointy-eared bastard, permanently."  
  
Chakotay was shocked. "You've got to be kidding me. You may not, under any circumstances, harm Tuvok in any way. Is that clear?"  
  
"But you've never even liked Tuvok. And he's a danger to us…"  
  
"Is that clear, Ensign?"  
  
"Crystal, Sir."  
  
The two parted in opposite directions.  
  
 TTTTTTTTTTTTTTTTTTTTTTTT  
  
   
  
While strolling back to his quarters, Chakotay mulled the day's events over in his mind. He thought he had handled his problems with the increasingly powerful Ensign Straker very well. He clearly defined a set of boundaries and asserted his place in the command structure. And he averted a potentially deadly situation.  
  
As he neared his quarters, his thoughts invariably turned to her. His Kathryn would be sleeping by now, thankfully. He didn't want her to know about his late-night activities—though he would have given a limb to know hers. When he reached their corridor, he slowed his pace and quieted his step. Hearing nothing, and after assuring the hall was empty, he crept to her door and stealthily placed his ear against it. There was a rustling sound within and he strained to discern what it was. Could she still be up reading? Maybe enjoying a late-night cup of black coffee. Or she could even be…  
  
Before he could finish that thought, the doors flew open and he nearly fell inside. In surprise and fear, he stumbled back, before looking up to see… Tarran Straker.  
  
"Oh, hi Chak," he said, nonchalantly.  
  
"Tarran, what are you doing here?" the bewildered commander asked.  
  
"Shhhh. Don't want to wake the Captain."  
  
"Don't want to wake…" Chakotay did not finish the sentence, because the higher thought centres of his brain interrupted at that very moment to piece together the reason for Tarran's suspicious exit and the identity of Kathryn's lover.  
  
His eyes each grew as wide as the main deflector, a look of the purest rage smothered his face, and his entire body became as tight as a piano string. Through clenched teeth, Chakotay spit out, "You're the one? Tarran, my friend, is the one who's fucking the captain? You're going to die!"  
  
Tarran didn't even wait for him to finish his sentence; he started to run before the last word fell. Down the corridor and towards the Jeffries tubes, Straker sprinted with the hate-inspired Chakotay bearing down on his heels.  
  
With an agility only Tarran could have possessed, he swiftly slid into the Jeffries tube and shut the hatch behind him. By the time Chakotay reached it, Tarran had overloaded the door controls, jamming it shut. Chakotay could only bang his hands on the door and shout one last oath.  
  
"Tarran! I'll kill you if it's the last thing I do!"  
  
 TTTTTTTTTTTTTTTTTTTTTTTT  
  
   
  
The cargo bay was filled with nearly every man who wasn't currently on duty—and a few who were. All but Ensign Straker. No one would have noticed his absence, except that Chakotay had grilled nearly everyone in the crowd as to his location. Despite the size of the crowd, everyone stayed quiet in anticipation of the next clash. It was Vorik's first night, which meant he had to fight, and so he had chosen Chakotay. Though no longer a violent race, Vulcans still possessed superior strength and endurance, but Vorik himself was an inexperienced fighter. No one was certain whether natural ability would win out or skill. Though surrounded by the throng of energized men, the two took a moment to size each other up, circling and observing. Suddenly Chakotay acquired the primal look in his eyes that he first got when he was forced to strangle a Cardassian to death on a mission with the Maquis. No one had seen this in him before, at least not in many years. It was so powerful that Vorik took a step back, which Chakotay exploited with a lunge that he had no room to dodge.  
  
Then the cargo bay door opened.  
  
"Who…"  
  
The crowd turned and they found Tuvok standing in the corridor with an all- female security detail pouring in, phasers at the ready.  
  
Calmly, Tuvok said, "Stop what you are doing and form up."  
  
Confused the men just looked at each other, unsure if they should heed the Vulcan's orders or attempt to fight back.  
  
"Mr. Tuvok, come to spoil our fun?" Tarran shouted. The crowd parted to allow him to look directly at Tuvok.  
  
"I have come to stop all illegal activities on this ship. If you cooperate, the process can be peaceful and the punishment light."  
  
"Never!" screamed one man, who flung himself towards Tuvok, only to be shot down by three simultaneous phaser beams. At that, anarchy erupted. The men charged the security officers and tried to wrestle their weapons away. Then one was flying through the air, tossed to Tarran, which he caught in one outstretched hand.  
  
"Stop!" Tarran ordered. Everyone froze in place. Looking at him, everyone discovered he had his phaser trained on Tuvok.  
  
"It's set to kill! If anyone tries anything, the Vulcan's dead."  
  
Chakotay could only stare at him in disbelief. "What are you doing?" he asked.  
  
"Just taking care of our problem, Chakotay," Straker replied.  
  
"You can't do this, it's not right," he said while moving closer.  
  
"But it's what you wanted."  
  
Chakotay was angered by this. "No. I never wanted anyone to die. And no one has to; just put down the phaser." He inched a little closer.  
  
"But don't you see? To solve your problem, someone has to die."  
  
"I don't understand."  
  
"You do, Chakotay. The answers have been inside your head the whole time. Tuvok, I believe you came to tell Chakotay who blew up his quarters."  
  
Tuvok said, "Indeed. Chakotay, I uncovered evidence that you created the plasma leak that caused the explosion in your quarters. I also found your secret distillery in the recycling lab. And I determined you were the one who raided Neelix's supplies of leeola root."  
  
Chakotay said, "But it was…"  
  
Tarran cut him off. "It was me, which means it was you. Don't you understand, Chakotay, we're two sides of the same coin. Think back to our first fight."  
  
Chakotay tried to remember, but something seemed wrong. It was not as he remembered it. He was there, walking through the hallway. He saw the two crewmen, but where was Tarran? Why were they fighting? Then he understood. He remembered it all; in the hallway he was alone—he was fighting himself. He was also alone for the midnight raid. He set up the distillery. In fact there was no ensign assigned to recycling on the ship.  
  
Chakotay asked, "So, I was alone on the shuttle mission?"  
  
"Completely."  
  
"Then why are you pointing a phaser at Tuvok? If you're me, then why can't I make you stop?"  
  
Before he could get his answer, the bay doors opened again. Kathryn Janeway entered.  
  
Tuvok, appearing genuinely distressed, said, "Captain, you shouldn't be here."  
  
"I'll be fine. This is my crew, after all." She surveyed the room, looked at Chakotay with a confused expression, and said, "Commander, why aren't you wearing a shirt?"  
  
He laughed. He didn't want to, but the situation was so absurd he could not help it. Here he stood, topless and barefooted, trying to convince his alter ego, a man two days ago he would have killed, to put down the phaser. What happened to him on that away mission?  
  
Wait a minute. He wanted to kill Tarran because he discovered he was sleeping with Kathryn. But if he and Tarran are the same person…  
  
Then everything was clear. That night, after drinking his first batch of moonshine, he staggered to her quarters. She let him in, replicated him some coffee. She wanted him to go to sickbay, but he refused, said the doctor would never let him live it down. Instead of a sickbay cot, she tucked him into her own bed, then stood to leave. He begged her to stay, said he wanted to talk to her and that they never really got to talk anymore. Then he told her, he told her everything he wanted to say, good and bad. In the end, he was lying in her bed crying and she curled up next to him and held him until he stopped. Then he decided to kiss her and the floodgates were opened, on both sides.  
  
"Hey, Space Cadet, hostage situation here," Tarran said.  
  
"Oh, yeah. Um, just put the phaser down."  
  
"Can't do that."  
  
"Why not?" Chakotay asked.  
  
"Because you have to take it from me."  
  
"You're kidding, Tarran."  
  
"I'm not. In fact, you have until the count of three."  
  
"What are we supposed to fight?"  
  
"One."  
  
"Am I supposed to charge at you or something?"  
  
"Two."  
  
"You've got to be kidding. Cut it out, Straker."  
  
"Three."  
  
Straker raised his weapon to fire. Without thinking, Chakotay ran towards him, but he wasn't going to be in time to stop him from hitting that button. And if he tackled Tarran in this crowded room, the phaser beam could hit anyone. Even her. Straining every muscle, he drove forward and did the only thing he could: he lunged in the path of the weapon. Straker fired.  
  
Chakotay did not think his death would hurt so much. It felt like he had been kicked in the chest by a horse and he gasped for his last few breaths. Looking up from the deck, he saw Tuvok. Oddly, this annoyed him greatly, and he said, "Why the hell… Tuvok… I don't even like you."  
  
Then she was by him, holding his head and crying. "Is he gone? Is Tarran gone?" she asked.  
  
Chakotay tilted his head and said, "I don't see him anywhere. I think he's gone."  
  
Then Tuvok pronounced, "Captain, the phaser was set on stun, but we should still get the commander to sickbay."  
  
"Stun?" Chakotay asked.  
  
Kathryn, who was still holding his head, leaned in and said, "What happened to you Chakotay? You've been acting so strangely and you look like you haven't slept in days." Then she whispered in his ear, "In fact, I think I can vouch that you haven't."  
  
Groggily, he said, "It all started when I went on that shuttle mission…"  
  
He would have explained further, but at that point he was fast asleep. 


End file.
